


You've Got These Little Things (you either get it or i guess you won't)

by thescrewtapedemos



Series: Vices (ever since we met) [1]
Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Comeplay, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multi, Phone Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 16:55:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4444295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescrewtapedemos/pseuds/thescrewtapedemos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sarah has some good ideas sometimes (always. she always has good ideas.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	You've Got These Little Things (you either get it or i guess you won't)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nbmothman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nbmothman/gifts).



> call me ryan ross because i've been writing sins again. they're on tour for this one and it's set chronologically before the first fic. Enjoy xoxo

“You busy, Dallon?” Brendon says from the door, and there’s something about the way that he says it that makes Dallon look up.

Brendon’s grinning at him, leaning against the lounge doorframe, nothing overt until Brendon sees he’s got his phone to his ear and the beat he’s tapping out idly on his hip isn’t idle at all. It’s a little desperate actually, and now that Dallon’s looking- oh. Brendon’s hard, hard as _fuck_.

Well then.

“No,” he replies belatedly, setting aside his laptop. There are emails he could technically be answering but an hour or so won’t go amiss. Besides, the way Brendon’s looking at him has his cock twitching in his jeans.

“Good,” Brendon purrs, pushing off from the doorframe with one hip. It emphasizes his hardness, the tent in his jeans. Dallon has a hard time looking away from it. “He said he wasn’t busy, Sarah.”

It takes Dallon a moment to register that Brendon’s speaking into the phone, and then another to catch his breath. Sarah being involved opens up worlds of possibility.

“Here,” Brendon says and offers the phone to Dallon. He’s grinning far too widely and Dallon takes it with some trepidation.

“Hi?” he says into the phone, watching Brendon watch him. It’s sending curls of dark, embarrassed pleasure through his stomach, churning and hot. His cock is halfway hard, heavy in his pants. He licks his lips and thrills at the way Brendon tracks the motion with his eyes.

“Hey, Dallon,” Sarah’s sweet voice answers, and Dallon catches his breath a little bit. “I’d like Brendon to jerk off on your face, if that’s alright.”

Dallon means to say words, he really does, but what comes out is a thin whimper. Brendon giggles and Sarah echoes him a moment later. Dallon blushes and squirms a little bit. He’s hard. So, so hard.

“I take it that you’re alright with that,” Sarah says, faux-lazy, so sweet.

“Yes,” Dallon pants. He’s breathless. 

“Okay, put me on speaker, alright?” Sarah tells him. It takes a moment for Dallon to fumble the phone over to press the speaker button but he manages, holding it out between himself and Brendon almost like an offering.

“How do you want us, babe?” Brendon asks cheerfully. He’s grinning at Dallon, disconcertingly unconcerned.

“Dallon on his back and I want you over him,” Sarah says immediately, and then Brendon’s hands are shoving Dallon over none-too-gently. Dallon goes with it with only a huff of displeasure, toppling and rolling to land on his back.

“Hands on your thighs, Dallon, no touching yourself,” Sarah says, and Brendon leans over to set the phone by Dallon’s ear.

Dallon presses his palms on his thighs. His cock is hard, almost to the point of aching. He hopes he’s going to be allowed to get off. He wants to come so badly already.

Brendon kneels up, straddling Dallon. He’s intimidatingly tall from this angle and Dallon can’t stop his breath from speeding. It’s too much, too hot, Sarah’s breathy little noises from the phone by his head and the way Brendon’s clever fingers are massaging over the tent of his cock in his jeans.

“You should see him, Sarah,” Brendon says and Sarah sighs, halfway a moan and halfway regretful.

“Wish I could,” she hums. “What’s he look like?”

“Like the prettiest damn thing,” Brendon says and grins at Dallon. It almost distracts him from the motion of Brendon’s hands undoing his pants working them down his thighs.

He’s not wearing underwear.

“You’re not-,” Dallon says, and then cuts himself off. He shouldn’t be surprised. Brendon wasn’t known for wearing clothes when he could get away with nudity.

“I’m not,” Brendon agrees, his cock already in his hand.

He’s a tight line, the curve of his sternum leading easily to the bulge of his stomach muscles, then to the v of his hips and the thick, red curve of his cock. There’s a flush working its way down his chest, a faint sheen of sweat. Dallon’s mouth floods with saliva. He wants to lick him, wants Brendon’s cock in his mouth. Instead he flexes his hands on his thighs and blinks up at Brendon desperately.

“God, he loves this,” Brendon relays to Sarah, ignoring Dallon’s protesting noise. “You sure I can’t fuck him?”

“No,” Sarah says, firm and authoritative, and Dallon watches Brendon’s cock twitch in his hand. Dallon’s own cock twitches. He loves that voice, loves when Sarah uses it. “Jerk off, but go slow. Talk to me and Dallon.”

“Mhmm,” Brendon hums, hand beginning to move on his cock. There’s precum beading at the tip and he rubs a thumb across it for a moment, head falling back. “God, want to be fucking your pretty mouth right now, Dal.”

“Maybe later, babe,” Sarah says, sounding amused, and Dallon barely holds in his whimper. Brendon’s hand is moving at a careful pace on his cock, slow, rhythmic. It’s almost hypnotizing to watch and Dallon can’t look away. The red, thick hardness of Brendon’s shaft, the motion of his hand.

“God, but he wants it,” Brendon says, moans. “He does, you can tell, holy shit.”

“You can go faster,” Sarah breathes, and Dallon watches Brendon’s hand tighten, speed. “Come on, baby, talk to him.”

“God, _fuck_ ,” Brendon grunts, hand twisting on his cock. “Fuck, I want, if I could I’d fucking, I’d fuck you right on _stage_ , shit.”

Dallon’s breath catches and his cock _throbs_. Thick embarrassment and arousal, equal, mixing, he can’t tell the difference and he’s so hard he thinks he could come the instant someone touched his cock.

“Going to keep him all to yourself or let Spencer have a turn, baby?” Sarah says, sounding amused and turned on. Brendon moans. His hand on his wet cock is making obscene noises, slick and filthy. Sarah’s own moan echoes a moment later and Dallon has to close his eyes for a moment against it all. He’s so fucking turned on.

“Spencer and then Brendon, right after each other,” Sarah hums through the speaker, directed to Dallon, “Everyone seeing how much you love having a cock in you, right?”

“Fuck, so fucking hot,” Brendon grunts out. Dallon can’t help his high moan at the thought of their cocks in him, at the _attention_ on him. Watching him be spread open and fucked, that’s _Brendon’s_ fantasy but it’s getting him off so hard. Fuck, he doesn’t understand how the embarrassment is making him harder, he can’t fucking think at all.

“Come on him, come on his face baby,” Sarah says. She sounds borderline desperate herself, words edging up into a moan.

“He has to, fuck, he has to ask for it,” Brendon says and he sounds strained. Dallon can’t speak. There aren’t words in his head, nothing but hot arousal and shame and pleasure.

“Come on, Dallon, baby, ask him to come on you,” Sarah says, encouraging. She’s panting, Dallon can hear it through the speaker. Fast, shallow breathing. About-to-come breathing.

“I,” he manages, voice cracking. His fingers are straining on his thighs, dying to touch his aching cock. “Please, Brendon, I want. Please, come on me, I want… I want you to come on my face, _please_.”

“Fuck, holy shit,” Brendon curses, and Dallon barely has time to close his eyes before Brendon’s come is hitting his face. It’s hot, wet, dripping across his cheek and mouth.

He hasn’t mentioned to them yet, how much he gets off to their come on him. He doesn’t know how to articulate it, how it makes him feel marked and owned and filthy and used, all in the best way. He doesn’t know how to ask for it either but he’s starting to think they know anyway. He wonders, an abstract pulse of obscene, pornographic thought, if one day he could get Spencer and Brendon both to come on him. If they’d let him clean their cocks afterwards.

He has to gasp for breath.

“Fuck, Brendon, baby, how does he look?” Sarah asks, sounding so close to the edge Dallon’s cock throbs in sympathy.

“Jesus,” Brendon says, sounding breathless, and his hand touches Dallon’s face. His palm on Dallon’s cheek, his thumb rubbing through the mess of come on his mouth, pressing the pad of his thumb between Dallon's lips for him to clean. He tastes salty-bitter, hot and thick on Dallon’s tongue. “He looks like a fucking porno, Sarah, I wish you could see this.”

“ _God_ ,” Sarah says and then moans, long and low. Her orgasm moan, and Dallon can’t stop a whimper at the sound.

Brendon lets go of Dallon’s face, squirms down a little bit. By the time Dallon’s dared to open his eyes he’s yanking Dallon’s pants open, relieving the pressure on his aching cock. The brief brushes of fingers on Dallon’s cock are tease, almost too much, leaving him panting for breath.

He cries out when Brendon’s fingers close around his shaft, easing him free of his underwear.

“Love how you look when you’re being fucked,” Brendon says, thick and deep. He’s jacking Dallon off, hand loose and wet still from his own come. Dallon bucks into it, in the bare few inches of space he can. “Love how you just fucking _take_ it, how you get off on it, it’s so fucking hot.”

“ _Bren_ ,” Dallon moans, and throws a hand across his mouth to stifle the sound.

“Stop that,” Brendon says sharply, “Sarah, tell him to make noise.”

“Listen to Brendon, Dal, make noise for us,” Sarah says, voice breathless through the phone speaker, thick with the remains of her orgasm. “You sound so pretty, come on.”

Brendon’s hand tightens, moves faster, and Dallon lets himself moan this time. It’s loud, wanton, makes him flush at the sheer desperation in the noise.

“I’m gonna take a picture of you for Sarah, all messed up and covered in come,” Brendon whispers in his ear. “You look like a fucking slut, Dal. Like a fucking cumslut, you’re so fucking desperate for it.”

Dallon cries out and Sarah laughs happily.

“Good, good job baby, keep being noisy,” she encourages in his other ear and Dallon feels his spine arch. “I want to hear that pretty little voice, okay?”

Dallon moans acknowledgement. He wants to come, he’s a heartbeat away. He just needs something else, something to push him over the edge. Something to push the hot, shameful pleasure building in him into boiling. The desperate, tiny thrusts Brendon’s allowing him into the tight circle of his hand aren’t quite enough.

“I think he should say it,” Brendon purrs to Sarah, theatrically loud, voice barely marred by his breathlessness. “I think he should say what he is.”

“Mmm,” Sarah hums agreement. Dallon can hear the smirk in her tone, the heavy-lidded look she gives when she looks at him with _plans_. “What do you have in mind, babe?”

Brendon’s hand stops on his cock, suddenly still and tight around the base. Dallon cries out and it takes him an age to focus enough to understand Brendon’s words.

“He’s going to say how much of a cumslut he is, aren’t you, Dal?” he’s saying in Dallon’s ear.

“I’m,” Dallon pants out, and it comes out so slurred he doesn’t think anyone could understand it. Brendon’s hand squeezes, once, just the briefest pulse of pressure. It sends off stars behind his eyes.

“Gonna say it?” Brendon snarls in his ear and Dallon can’t breathe. He’s so close to coming he can feel his spine arching. “Gonna tell us how much you love us coming on you?”

“I,” Dallon says, still slurred, still barely coherent. “I want you to, please, I want you to come on me, please, Bren, Sarah, _please_.”

“Let him, babe,” Sarah says. Brendon’s hand resumes motion, punishingly hard, too tight and too fast.

His orgasm slams through him and he whites out for a moment. It’s tight, hot, sharp, indescribably and nearly unbearably good. He can hear the noise he’s making, thin and high, rising and falling and rising again as Brendon jacks him through it. He can feel his own come landing, hot and wet, all over his stomach and chest. When his vision returns Brendon’s still pressed up to his side, hot and squirming. Sarah’s breathing in his ear.

“He came,” Brendon reports gleefully and Dallon manages to summon the energy to roll his eyes.

“Good,” Sarah says and Dallon feels a tiny thrill go through him despite his extremely recent orgasm. He just, he loves when he’s done a good job. “Go clean him up, okay?”

“Yes, Sarah,” Brendon says smarmily and hangs up on Sarah’s laughter. He’s smiling down at Dallon, almost _proudly_ , and so it takes Dallon a moment to register that Brendon’s holding the phone over him at a weird angle.

“What are you doing?” Dallon asks. Brendon grins at him beatifically.

“Taking a picture for Sarah,” he says, and before Dallon can protest the sound of the phone camera goes off.


End file.
